


Tis The Season To Be Jolly

by judes



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judes/pseuds/judes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the WriteTime Challenge 2013.  And I suppose this could be classed as a Death story.  Certainly by the end one of the major characters has died but it is about change and hope and life rather than death and sadness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tis The Season To Be Jolly

“Tis the season to be jolly  
Fa la la la la la la la la!”

The somewhat tuneful warbling from behind the shower curtain made Ray Doyle smile. As he continued to manoeuvre the razor around his chin, the singing stopped, the water was turned off, his partner pushed the curtain aside, stepped carefully onto the mat and grabbed the towel warming on the radiator.

“Push over, Ray. A man needs drying room in his own bathroom.”

Putting the razor down, Ray moved away from the sink. “Lost your festive spirit in getting out of the shower, did you, mate?”

“What?” Bodie’s puzzled face appeared out of the fluffy towel. “What are you on about?”

“Your not-so-seasonal choice of singing material.”

One eyebrow rose in query as Bodie continued to rub at his chest. “What’s wrong with a Christmas carol? At least I was in tune.”

“It’s four months to the festive season. Can’t you find something more suited to the time of year?”

“I don’t see the problem. I sing what I feel like singing. Not dictated by what time of year it is. Anyway, seasons change. Too damn quick for my liking. But the one thing that will never change is how I feel about you. Get a move on. Cowley awaits.”

Giving a final flourish with the towel, Bodie dropped it on the floor and left the bathroom but his words were quite clear as he exclaimed. 

“Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness  
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun.”

Grinning, Doyle too left the bathroom, heading for the bedroom to get dressed. Of all the romantic declarations that one took some beating but he’d rather have these throwaway comments than all the hearts and flowers. And trust Bodie to have a quote at the ready.

 

Torrential rain, visibility down to three or possibly four feet, water turning the grassy slope into a quagmire. Oh the joys of Spring in the English countryside!

Sliding into position next to Doyle, the cover just sufficient to ensure that they were out of sight of the gunmen defending the small farmhouse down in the valley, Bodie grinned. They were both soaked to the skin, mud spattered from boots to thighs, but they were together as always.

“I don’t think Wordsworth would have approved.”

“What?” Doyle was definitely not in the mood to appreciate his partner’s esoteric humour.

“Wordsworth. Daffodils.” Gesturing, Bodie indicated the now flattened field of yellow surrounding them.

“Oh. Yeah, I see. Rest of the team in position?” queried Doyle deciding to ignore any poetic wanderings.

“Yup. Just waiting for the signal.”

“What d’you think? Are we ready?”

“As we’ll ever be. Let’s get this one over with. Our last field op. Ever think this day would come, Ray?”

“Well, it had to come some time. But I never imagined this amount of rain. And sliding into action … literally.”

“Just think of the momentum we’ll have when we hit the front door.”

“If we don’t end up arse over tit.”

“Ha!”

“Right! Let’s get this over with. Twelve years active. Let’s go out with a bang.”

“I hope you don’t mean that literally. They could have bombs in there.”

Bodie just looked at his partner. Then pulling his RT out of his jacket, he clicked twice and unleashed the CI5 onslaught.

 

The mound of bedding emitted a low groan. Slowly, cautiously, a muscular arm emerged from under the duvet. There was a slight pause then head, shoulders and the other arm appeared as Bodie sat up.

“Urgh!”

“That says it all!” Laughing, Doyle handed him a mug. “Here. Drink this. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes.”

Taking a huge slurp of what he believed to be coffee, Bodie woke up fully. “What the hell is this?” His mouth curled in a grimace of distaste.

“My grandmother’s hangover cure. She swore it worked every time.”

“Did anyone ever survive it? That is positively the most disgusting … ! Works for you, does it?”

“No idea. I’ve never tried it.” Exiting the bedroom rather more rapidly than he’d entered it, Doyle missed the decision-making as Bodie weighed up throwing the mug at him against the resultant mess.

“Did you say breakfast?”

 

Shortly afterwards, though slightly more than ten minutes, Bodie made his way into the kitchen and dropped onto a chair, holding his head in one hand. Looking up at his partner, he realised there would be no sympathy forthcoming though breakfast smelled amazing.

“Why did you let me drink last night?” he asked pathetically.

“Let you? No one, not even Cowley, could have stopped you.”

“Well, it was the final ever CI5 Christmas bash. Couldn’t not drink, could I?”

A plate piled high with a full English breakfast appeared in front of him.

“Get that down you. It’ll help with the hangover.”

“Another of your grandmother’s cures?”

“Nope. Mine.”

“It does look good. Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Doyle sat down and started into his own breakfast. “Once or twice, I suppose.”

Plates were cleared in silence then Bodie pushed back from the table.

“That was great. Bags I the first shower.” And he was out of the door, before Doyle could think about mentioning the washing up. Shrugging, he started to clear up when down the corridor, he heard:

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly.”

It seemed that Bodie’s Christmas spirit was somewhat recovered.

 

“I hate summer!”

The statement earned him a disbelieving look from his companion, who was driving. Or rather was bringing the Capri to a halt behind yet another queue of caravans.

“Don’t be daft. You love summer.”

“Okay. Then I hate traffic. Whose bright idea was it to drive down to Devon on a Bank Holiday weekend?”

“Yours.”

“Eh?”

“I remember it distinctly. ‘It’ll be great, Ray. Just the two of us. Chance to relax.’ Certainly wasn’t me.”

“Well … it was a great idea. We need a proper break. I never realised how hard it was to run your own business. It’s been at least two years since we went anywhere together that wasn’t work-related.”

“I know, love. But we’ve left good people in charge.”

“I’m not worried about that. Just want to get there. I hate tourists!”

“Another hour should do it. Then we don’t need to move the car for the whole two weeks.”

“Mmm … that sounds like a plan. What are we going to do with all that time?”

Doyle glanced sideways at Bodie, smirking. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something. There was definitely mention of ravishing in the original planning.”

As the traffic started to move again, Bodie’s tune changed.

“We’re all going on a summer holiday  
No more working for a week or two.”

 

The sky was that vivid blue only achieved on a sunny day in autumn, little white clouds drifting across, cooling the day as they passed over the sun. The place was peaceful, as it should be, and there were few people around to see the tall, dark-haired man seemingly talking to himself.

“We had thirty years; more than most people ever have. We lived on the edge for a long time and it was a good life. It was even better when we semi-retired and could live openly together. I never believed it would work out but you wouldn’t let me go. Stubborn bugger. Still as I told you all those years ago, seasons change, Ray. Hell, everything changes. Except what I feel for you.” With a sigh, Bodie bent and placed the flowers in the vase. Standing, he continued, “This is a huge change – for both of us – but we’ll not be apart forever. And there’s not a chance of my feelings ever changing, sunshine. I love you as much now as when we started. I know I never told you often enough. But you knew just the same. So wait for me. I expect to see you on the other side.”

He turned and walked away from the grave.

 

End


End file.
